I was crying, nay, sobbing my nose off, half-way through the last episode of The Haunting of Bly Manor. My heart was shattered, stomped upon, and drowned in ways I can only remember from heartbreaks years ago. It felt as if every torn, brittle memory conjured up together in one cauldron, and was poured over me all at once in the last 30 minutes of the supernatural horror drama.
I was scared to watch The Haunting of Bly Manor at first. I judged it for what lay on first sight: the gloom, the faint light, the eyeless lost souls, the silence before the scream, and especially the mugshot of the haunted manor in the countryside.
Although, like in any other story, the truth was just beyond the surface. The series reels you in to a point where you can’t stop until you are being pulled by the Lady of the Lake herself.
It starts off as just another ghost story, where a mansion is haunted by a woman’s soul trapped in an endless cycle of greed and pain; but, if you look a bit deeper, it goes beyond that.
The real fear behind this story is not death; no, not death at all. To be frank, none of the characters were afraid of dying in this ghost story, rather, they were terrified of even the slightest thought of divine separation.
Nobody, not even the Lady in the Lake, could bear the thought of being separated from the person they loved most. Their determination to be with their loved ones cost them an eternity of perpetual sleep-walking, remembering and forgetting, as ghosts, as well as dragging down innocent lives with them.
All but one.
She lived with her person until the clock chimed, and she woke up that morning without her. Unlike the others, she did no such drastic cathartic thing. Instead, she learned to live again.
As if the cauldron of ice water drenching you from head to toe were not enough, she soothingly reminds you that, when the time comes, you too will face an inevitable departure. Yet, she perfectly entails that you’ll learn to see lost ones in their new form.
They’re no longer with you, but they become bits and pieces you will always carry in your daily life. Sometimes, you’ll see them, and all you’ll do is laugh until your stomach aches. Other days, the slightest hint of their memory will make you cry for hours on end, until your chest is shut tight once more.
The Haunting of Bly Manor was not about the horror of the Lady of the Lake, death, nor the ghosts. The real fear underlined in the series is grief. Just the thought of it makes anybody uneasy; so much, we’ll do anything to distract ourselves from it. Bly calls us to be strong, like the last one standing in the end, who was strong enough to tell the story.
As I write this, my cat’s curled up on my legs, keeping me warm; he instinctively knew I was sad. My cat did what he does best: sat by my side, and purred away. What we all truly fear, in the end, is to be alone, and some cannot bear it. I am on no high horse, as I find myself thinking about loneliness every day. Sometimes, I’m grateful for it. Other days, I’m not too keen about this feeling.
I looked at my pet, and I don’t know what I would do without him, but, just like I mourned my first cat, I will mourn him when his time comes, and will remember him every day for the joy we lived together.
Bly Manor trampled over my heart and I, as foolish as it may sound, thanked it.